Pushed into the Darkness
by Erik Thomas Stephans
Summary: BlindHandicapped!Harry, Slash, TMRHP or LVHP 'Please, wake, for me' He shook the Dark Lord harder, determined to wake him, come hell or high water.' Spoliers for DH! Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**Pushed into the Darkness**

Chapter 01

By Angelis Raye Kamura

* * *

There was nothing wrong with the end product, it was just that there was no beginning or end to it, so it seemed. At least he was alive.

Or so he had thought right after it had all happened.

Perhaps there would be some sort of order to it when it was picked apart by those critics he had always hated ever so much. They always took him piece by piece, being critical of it all, not stopping until his mental image of himself while hearing them on the news, was a bloody corpse, lying on the ground helplessly.

Sighing, he got up, using his cane to balance and guide himself around the room. He'd gone through a lot his entire life -- all his friends were gone, everyone had abandoned him by the end. Is this the way he was going to die? No one really cared anymore – excepting, of course, the critics.

He'd spared his enemy in the end -- how could he have done that? That's the main reason the critics were so harsh on him. Cold, feeling ever-so lonely, he passed the room as much as he could, before his leg would completely go numb and force him to retreat to his chair by his bed. He lived such a pitiful life now. His pride was all washed away, his dignity gone, his soul hollow, and his heart was nowhere to be found. And he was glad that it was all gone.

In the end, he really was a Slytherin, wasn't he? He'd run from his responsibility after the Headmaster's death and when he finally was forced (when finally forced) into the situation with those dark crimson eyes staring relentlessly into his own, he shook his head and held up his hands. He was forced to do what he would not regret, though. He surrendered, completely into the darkness; into the depths of power and pleasure he would never have experienced otherwise. It had come with great pain, but he had endured that, since it would save his life in the end.

It did more than that in the end, but soon after he failed to escape from the Aurors. They were stunned to see just who was responsible for at least one hundred deaths of innocents and those in authority, once they pulled off the mask. It was the man that had been put in charge of saving them all: the savior of wizard-kind.

They whipped him, they tortured him, subjected him to countless horrors, and just to get information out of him. That is, once they'd found he'd gone willingly. He'd laughed at them, spat in their faces, and injured many in attempts to escape to his Lord and Master.

"Is this how Severus Snape died, then?" he'd asked defiantly one day. That was the day he'd lost the ease of free movement in his left leg. They had crushed it so badly all the nerves in his entire leg lost a steady connection with the brain. And when it wasn't the nerves that lost the signals, it was his muscles that failed him.

This was punishment for betraying them to the Dark Lord, they said. This was supposed to be the payback for all the harm that he did on the rest of the world, or so they claimed. They asked how many muggles he'd killed -- they only got a perverse laugh out of him in response, echoing through the hall and back to the dungeon rooms they held him in, chained to the walls, held behind bars.

Once they were finished with him, they'd ship him off to Azkaban. They never did keep their promise; they would rather torture him this way, letting him stay more whole and in better condition.

A few months later, they brought out an acid bath, promising that he'd be well punished if he decided to not give them any information on his Lord and Master, the Dark Lord.

"Why should I? I swore to him that I would rather die than allow you to extract such information from me!!" He smirked, his legs causing him great pain when they pulled him to his knees. The oldest man was the one to force the traitor's head into the vat. That he didn't die was a miracle and an immense bane onto his captors. However, all the nerves leading to his brain were severely damaged, destroying the connection from his brain to his eyes.

After countless experiments with the young man, they gave up on trying to kill him. However damaged he was, he wouldn't die. The only injuries that he sustained were the ones in his leg and his eyes, much to the man's chagrin.

"Why couldn't I just have died? I'm no longer any assistance to my master..." he asked himself one day.

"It's the reason we're 'laxing the security around you. You'll be going to a muggle prison, in an isolation chamber."

And so, that's what happened. This landed him in the spot he is in now. He was allowed a television, although it's only as good as a radio would be to him. He was given a deteriorating piece of wood for a cane, smoothed down so that he wouldn't get himself splinters and manage an infection. Those were the only courtesies he was allowed in this environment, and only because the caretakers of the prison were clueless as to why he was even there.

When he was about to lay down for bed one night, a great shaking rumbled through the walls, startling him completely awake. After that, he cannot remember, since the heavy isolation door was opened, followed by a quick jab in the neck with what felt like a needle.

* * *

"Are you awake yet?"

"Hn...?"

He opened his eyes, although he knew that he wouldn't be able to see anything. He felt around himself with his hands, finally touching a finer material than he'd felt in such a long time. How long had he been held captive – how long since he couldn't see or walk without some sort of assistance?

"I will take that as a yes," the voice whispered, but he could hear it, strangely enough. It tugged many of his old memories loose, causing him to recall who's face belonged to the voice here with him.

"M'lord..." he whispered in return, bowing his head, clutching at the clothing he realized were his Master's clothing, made of fine silk.

He felt the cold fingers trail around his eyes, down his nose and mouth, then caressing his cheeks. "How sad you must be... to not be able to see..."

"I really do wish I could see again, my Lord. I wish to see how you've become the ruler of the world we live in."

"And I wish you could see how I've reshaped the world to please even your desires, little one." He could hear the smirk in the other's response, curling the corners of his lips on his handsome features of his face. "Please... I realize we've been apart for such an extended period of time, but you desperately need to be rewarded. Call me what you used to again... It's been too long..."

Emotions that he hadn't felt in such a long time now threatened to pour over his stoic mask he'd learned to retain in his dealings with the previous two captors. Shaking his head to clear the threat of tears, he then lifted his face up, using his hands to feel the features of the one who held him so closely. "You've completed it..." he said in awe, his voice cracking.

"Yes, but unfortunately I do not look at all as what you probably picture me to look now you can no longer see," the older man frowned sadly at the other as he spoke.

"Wrinkles...?" he inquired, as he felt the face, neck and chest of the other, tilting his head to the side in question.

Chuckling, the response was: "Yes, unfortunately. No matter that I may live forever, I have gotten older than I was at sixteen, you must realize. I was forced into this conclusion when I myself saw the reflection in the mirror. Although it restored something I had lost, it could not replace youth. At least you cannot see my hair..."

Furrowing his eyebrows together, the shorter man's fingers flew to the hair of the other individual. "Well, it's all there..." he pondered, completely perplexed.

Silence surrounded the two, only their breathing was heard for a full few minutes, until the younger became too impatient.

"Well?!"

"Hush, I'll show you..." he held a finger to the other's mouth, the hand then covered the forehead, covering the infamous scar. Soon, the blind man felt like he could see again, although he was also sent images of himself.

"I think you must look the better of us, Tom."

"But at least you don't look like a wise man or an old king..."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Not much. I'm just uncomfortable with the way I look, after such a long time. Don't worry about it, Harry."

"I'll try not to."

* * *

To be continued...?


	2. Chapter 2

**Pushed into the Darkness**

Thanks to Chy (being my Beta) and to Boogum (for giving me some ideas on the script). Inspired by the Daredevil comics -- the King of Hell's Kitchen story line.

**Chapter 02:**

* * *

There was a slight delay in Harry's re-acquaintance with the estate he was residing in with his lover, the Dark Lord. Before, it had not been quite so elaborate -- this time it was fully established in the area, protected by countless numbers of wards and charms. The stairs where one of the hardest things do go down, but a little easier when going up, since the side of the stairs that was accompanied by railing changed size to accommodate the spiral of the staircase itself. In addition, since he had been absent from the other half of his soul for so long, the now-blind young man had to re-learn everything; learn how to kiss again, how to embrace the other again, how to make love again, and lastly, how to even sleep in peace again. Once he had learned how to do these things again, he preferred to stay in the rooms with his soul mate, out of view from the Death Eaters he had at one time worked with as a team. 

What had happened in his stay away from the estate was almost completely washed away from his mind once he spent enough time in the place he had coveted since being taken away that one night. He couldn't believe that it had already been over a year since he was here the last time, getting ready for the raid that he would be caught on by the Ministry's wonderful aurors that treated him like the whole rest of the wizarding world wanted to. The memories still had a slight hold in his mind, but he wished and wished that they would just disappear altogether.

"I've missed you so greatly, Tom," he whispered, ever so softly into the crook of the other's smooth, soft neck, as he took in the all too familiar scent of his cologne. "Have I ever told you that that cologne you wear is so wonderful?"

"I don't believe that you have," the other returnedas Harry felt longer, thin fingers carding through his longer hair.

"Now it just seems to stand out all the more. I suppose it has to do with only having four senses?"

"Hmn..." The unfinished thought seemed to hang heavily in the air as the two lay in the bed, surrounded and engulfed by the silky sheets around them.

Hands moved again, this time through the silk above his torso, pulling them back slightly. The chilled air struck his skin a bit harsher than normal, as he recoiled into the heat of the other's embrace and deeper into the sheets. Silk hit his neck, right under his chin, pushing all of the colder air out of the way, settling on top of him. He felt his eye lids grow heavier -- although he could not even see out of them -- as the night grew darker and darker.

When he opened his eyes again, he had almost expected to see again, yet...

Wind rustled through the room, nice and warmer than the chill air he'd felt during the night hours. He heard the door open. The smell accompanied by the entrance of the new person into the room was oddly floral and yet metallic scented -- Lucius Malfoy had just entered into his safe-zone.

"Well, it is good to see you again, since our Lord has been very frightful of you never returning to us at all. I believe that was why he went to rescue you from that blasted Ministry building." The aristocratic man spoke to Harry lightly.

Harry, meanwhile, was having the oddest experience -- he could almost see Lucius due to the way he tapped his cane, occasionally switching the hands he held it in, clinking on the tile and on his ring, sending an echo throughout the room. The waves of sound carried, bouncing off of the walls, the floor, the bed, the sheets, his hands, his own (much sturdier) cane in his right hand, and finally carried back to Lucius, the other cane, and back again... He got lost in it all, his mind set to studying the oddness of the entire scenario.

"...there's the possibility of rehabilitating that lame leg of yours, you know?" Lucius' voice came back into focus, slowly, as if the volume on his voice was slowly being turned up. "Harry? Did you hear me, Harry?"

The addressed individual suddenly sat up straighter, the cane in his hand clenched in his fist tightly. "I'm sorry; I was lost in my thoughts. Please, could you sit as I make myself more presentable?" He gently pulled himself, with the help of his cane and the assistance of the sturdy items of furniture around the large four post bed in the surprisingly smaller room.

Lucius' cane began it's tapping over again, once the man was seated in the lone chair in the room, a trifle boarded with watching Harry change into the robes his Lord had left out for him, pulling them over his ivory pale skin, covering the horrible looking scars that marred the surface of the otherwise flawless skin that covered the young man's entire body.

Harry put more confidence in himself as he dressed in the robes his love left him. Upon touching them, a burst of color gushed into his mind, filling his thoughts with just the image of the robe of that texture, dyed with that color, a remnant of a spell that must have been left by the other part of him. "Tom," he whispered under his breath, grateful over and over again for the effort that the other put into aiding him. He was far better suited to this lifestyle than the one of always being the hero of the wizarding world. At least Dumbledore was dead -- Snape be blessed (and praised!) for that, he thought to himself, a scowl etching his features.

Harry's mind drifted away again, once Lucius left the room, after receiving a message from his wife and son (very urgent, apparently), the door was slammed, echoing the waves of sound around the room hastily. The entire room echoed the silence once he left, although he could faintly begin to hear the goings on in the adjacent room -- which was tuned out by the on-sought of memories...

* * *

Before, when he was still in his Seventh year, he would wonder -- dream -- about how it would have been if he'd been sorted into Slytherin -- green and silver tie, the snake banner decorating the breast of his black robes, sitting next to Draco Malfoy and his cronies during meals and classes. 

If he had been sorted into the snake house, might he have caved in sooner to the man he was deeply in love with in the future? Would he have handed the stone to the man, giving in, begging him to care for him? Perhaps he would have taken the hand of the younger-looking Tom Riddle, when he was in his prime of his Sixth year at Hogwarts, more handsome than anyone else he could imagine when he was offered (perhaps kept a tighter hold on that diary of his once it fell into his hands)? Or would he have happily given away his blood to revive the Dark Lord, who offered him a place once again, before throwing curses his way? Maybe he might have thrown away his resistance upon the merging of their bodies and the continuing of their growing bond of their souls -- the possession in the Ministry -- fighting off Dumbledore (that manipulative, old, deceiving man!)? If not then, perhaps when the Death Eaters raided the castle, perhaps after seeing all of those memories (despite being portrayed as the evil man that he was not!) he might have run to Draco, begged and pleaded with the blond and his guardian to take him with them?

Looking back, Harry was certain he should have taken the first route he was given -- if only he hadn't fought the hat so hard! After his graduation, despite the chaos and the confusion of it all, he met with Draco again, accidentally. Upon reuniting, Harry felt all the fight against what he was turning into leave him -- he would give into the darkness that was being fed to him through that link that connected his soul mate and him to each other.

"Draco, please... take me to him. I - I just can't stand --!" he sobbed brokenly, his mind utter rubbish in forming his sentences. "I just don't know what to do anymore...! Help me, great Salazar!" he exclaimed, surprising them all. The influence of the Dark Lord exploiting him in his dreams had taken its toll on the young man, graying his hair prematurely, eventually turning his soul black as night. Memories of life as Tom Riddle only fueled the fire, as he had experience a great number of them in his slumber at Hogwarts the year before. Eventually, torture turned into pleasure each and every night he laid his head down to increasingly more peaceful sleep.

Once Harry was marked, he could not stand being without his Lord for more than a day at a time. Spending time with his friends irritated him, since he could just picture Tom's soothing caress on his skin (and in his hair) while lying on their bed, right before they indulged in their nightly routine. Eventually he just never came back to their side of the grey scale, fearing that he would go insane if he was kept from the other part of his own self for too much longer.

"Oh, my Tom... How glad am I to be here, with you..." he whispered, almost seeing the sound waves bending, hitting and reflecting around the room.

* * *

To be continued... 


	3. Chapter 3

**Pushed into Darkness**

_By Angelis Raye_

A/N: I wish to announce the fact that this chapter is not Beta-ed. I actually really need a Beta now, due to some things that came up with my previous Beta. I apologize for the wait period between my chapters now, but I really need a good Beta that is able to get my chapters back to me within a DAY or two (at the most), not a week or a month later. If you wish to become my Beta, please drop a review on one of my fictions, preferably the one that I just updated, on any chapter, leaving your email address that you would like me to send the chapters to.

Thank you for reading this and being patient with me.

Angelis

* * *

_Chapter 03_:

Once, there was a part of him that almost hated being compared to Tom Riddle. Now? He wished he could be always that close to the younger Riddle. He longed for his touch, the feel of being one with the other, their existence overlapping with each other's, almost as if they were no longer two separate entities. Harry sighed, since there was no way he would be able to accomplish such a feat, since they already possessed the other's memories on top of their own, due to their link being widened over the time that they keep spending together. Harry felt all of what his soul mate and Lord felt, and Tom Riddle knew and felt what Harry felt. Oddly, even their appearances were becoming more and more alike, as Harry's stress and the experiments of the Aurors while he was locked away. Once rich, thick, untamable hair became streaked with white and grey, falling in waves around his face. Tom had thought it interesting that Harry had gone almost all grey by age 36, whereas Tom looked forty, rather than the ninety he was turning. The only difference between them seemed to be their eyes and that Harry now was always accompanied by a cane as well as his lover.

Speaking of the cane, Harry fingered it lovingly: it was made and wrought for him specially, made out of the finest materials and suited just for him. This device was used for leading himself rather than helping him keep his balance while walking; the brace that he wore on his leg took care of that problem, most of the time.

It seemed as though he was always tired, not having enough energy to get himself around anymore. He barely had enough energy to use lighting charms and summoning charms. Had something happened that the Aurors had damaged his magical core beyond his own repair? He pondered on this a short time more, but continued onto think about how Tom had managed in subduing all of the non-magical forces recently. His mind wandered again, this time to rest upon the rituals and the making of Horcruxes that he and his love had both went through to insure them both of immortality -- so many of them, taking the span of about ten or so years altogether. Harry would still age physically until he looked about forty to muggle standards as well, as seen with Tom, although he would not have to go through the rest of the rituals to restore his more human-looking appearance, since he did not lose his body like his love had done.

Upon hearing the distant knock of the end of a cane against the oaken door of their chambers, Harry started a little, Tom sitting up straighter, his hand still caressing Harry's right hand on top of the silken red sheets that decorated the bed. Calling for the visitor to come in, assuring that they were both somewhat dressed, the door was opened then closed again with a soft 'click', greased metal against metal. Heavy robes shifted as a cane was used ornamentally by one of the few Grand Nobles that the Dark Lord held so high in his ranks: Lucius Malfoy.

First was the bow to his masters, accompanied by the shifting of robes yet again and the creaking of boots against the smooth, polished wooden floor. "My Lords," was spoken softly by a cultured voice, well versed in how he should address his master. Without being asked, the messenger stood and answered the unasked question. "There is an approval of welcoming the Dark Lords of the Wizarding world at last, in Sweden. Almost expected, as Durmstrang is located in that area as well. It will be held in a week, on the 24th of September, before it gets too cold in the region for it to be unbearable for any visitors wishing to see the event. Please, be prepared for the media and other forms of press and exploiters." There was a pause worthy of noting. By the way that Tom was reacting, it made him all the more curious about what else his loyal servant had to say to the both of us. "There are also rumors that the Order will make one last attempt to either attain Harry Potter again -- chancing that he hasn't totally recovered from his recent containment in order to blackmail you -- or that they will try to kill you, my Lord."

Silence enveloped the room, grating on Harry's senses, ringing in his ears as he was distracted by the faint whispers of whatever was going on down the hall from the room, since that was the general safe-quarters for any Death Eaters that had been publicly put on the stand or ousted by the media or the Order. The newest ruler of the wizarding world was not completely liked by all, ever so readily; however, that would change soon enough, once the generation that had suffered through the majority of the beginnings of the war that were initially against the Dark Lord's reign would die, leaving the next generation in command, so-to-say.

"Is that all, Lucius?" Tom inquired, his voice low, quite near hissing. Harry turned my head towards him, feeling how he felt about being interrupted before he could enjoy their time alone together. Lucius also must have realized what he had interrupted as well, and quickly bowed -- his robes, boots, and cane making the noises of departure as he opened the door, closing it behind him quickly, not wanting to feel the wrath of his master again.

As soon as they both took in a much needed, deep breath, Tom pulled his love close to him, tracing patterns on the soft ivory skin of the warm body pressed up against him. "I still cannot believe that you are so tall... After everything that you had gone through, you should have been much shorter than myself, you must notice."

"I know," the other responded, breathing in his mate's scent, the cologne that intoxicated him and drove him to such levels of pleasure alone. "I don't believe it, either. Especially since it was only after I had completely exposed myself as one of your supporters..."

* * *

Words blended into thoughts and memories resurfaced, the two soul mates recalling it together, Tom with his hand on the other's forehead, caressing it softly:

"Harry, what is up with you?!" Ron demanded, outraged about Harry's recent change in attitude. "It's like you're never really 'here' all the time, anymore. Is there someone that you're seeing that makes you all day dreamy?"

Sneering, the other just pulled his cloak around himself a little tighter, feeling uneasy about his friends finding out about what he was doing every night with Tom. They weren't supposed to find out about his betrayal until it was time to face the Dark Lord himself, and the time was running short on that as well, it seemed. 'Oh, Tom... I wish that you would please hurry and attack! I don't think I can tolerate this interrogation anymore,' Harry thought silently, his hand racking through his hair in frustration. How was he to break the news to these people who had been his friends for so long? He knew that they wouldn't accept him once the news was released...

Around Christmas, the atmosphere at Hogwarts grew a little lighter, the students and staff relaxing a bit to enjoy the holiday. Unfortunately for them, however, the Dark Lord had planned on this. Since that blasted Dumbledore was no longer at Hogwarts, he no longer had to fear all of the protections that had surrounded the old school. Granted, he did not want to desecrate the school grounds -- since Salazar himself had helped found the school -- only raid the inside and have a "final showdown" with the Boy-Who-Lived. Once the school was attacked, everything happened so quickly, that very few people can recall the details of it -- only one that is still alive to this day. Sooner than expected, Harry was facing his love on the other side of the Great Hall, the tables (which had been pushed to the sides of the hall itself) charred and sparking a bit with remnants of the spells that had gone astray and hit them.

"Well, well, well... if it isn't the great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived!" the Dark Lord laughed, sarcastically. "Come, and attack me, if you can!" With that, the supposed Final Battle ensued. Once Harry was sprawled out in front of the Dark Lord, flat on his face, he pulled himself together, ready for what was to happen. "Harry, my dear, this is the last time I'll ever ask this of you: Will you join me, sparring yourself and me from this pointless clash? After all, why should we be opposing each other, when we are so very alike?"

"I will, my Lord, my Master..." Harry humbly bowed, kissing the robes of the powerful Dark Lord before him. "I wish to only become more like you, so that the world may see how truly powerful you are, my Lord."

"Hold out your arm, then, Harry... Ah, there's a good boy. Now, don't scream too loud," Tom smirked, caressing the smooth, paling skin of the other's arm. Chanting the spell for the Marking, branding his newest follower to himself. The rush of magic that followed overwhelmed the rest of those who were present in the Great Hall, astounding even the Dark Lord himself. Hurriedly, the Dark Lord swept his soul mate into his arms, carrying him out of the castle grounds, in order to apparate back to the Riddle Manor.

"Tom?" was all that Harry could utter before passing out in his new Master's arms.

* * *

To Be Continued... 


	4. Chapter 4

**Pushed into Darkness**

_by Angelis Raye_

Chapter 04

* * *

**Warning:** From this chapter forward, there will be spoilers for Deathly Hallows. They are not evident until about mid-way through this chapter. I feel very in love with this newest book. There are none that could ever top this one, in my opinion.

Also, this chapter is also not Beta'd. I have a Beta in mind, however.

* * *

There was an odd feeling that had slithered through his entire body as he started to wake. It was a foreign chill that swept through him like a blizzard, although, centered much down his spine and making him shiver rather violently. He held up his hands to his face, feeling his nose, mouth, and lips, touching them to make sure that they were still attached and he was still capable of such sensations as feeling, tasting, seeing, and so forth. As though he had been sleeping for years, he looked around himself, adjusting to the dim lighting and surreal environment. Upon sitting straight up, the heavy door opened, admitting the person he had seen last: the Dark Lord, formerly known as Tom Riddle, Jr.

"Harry, my dear... have you finally woken?" was heard, almost distantly. It sounded heavenly, that voice, as if he hadn't heard a sound for so very long. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"...Ah, I... I suppose so," the addressed returned quite awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. "... If I may... How long...?"

"How long have you been sleeping, you ask?" the Dark Lord inquired, a smirk playing about his lips, mirth dancing about in his eyes. Upon a nod, he continued, "I must say, it has been over four months... I do hope you feel rested enough, since there are many things that the two of us must go over before anything gets accomplished."

"Accomplished?"

"Yes, things like world domination and the sort..."

"Ah, that explains things. ...A bit anxious over matters like that, are you?" Harry retorted, raising a brow at the other in question.

"I suppose you know me quite well." A pause, then, "You almost have to, knowing who you are... Although, you have changed a bit since the last time you've seen yourself in a mirror. Care to take a peek now? I shall be awfully amused to see your reaction to your own self, now." Finally, as a side note, Tom muttered, presumably to himself, "Severus found it very amusing, as well..."

Having a mirror placed onto the sheets before him by long-fingered hands, Harry carefully picked up the article, peering into it, expecting something. What he saw was not at all what he was anticipating: before his very eyes, he witnessed a person not too unlike himself, although so different that it was startling. Almost dropping the offending thing, he sprang back, then brought his will back to look in it straight again. "How...?" was uttered from his lips.

"My dearest... 'how' you came to be like this? Merely opening your mind, body, and soul to me began to bring about such changes as these," he whispered into the other's ear, leaning close to the other warm body, so that their faces could both be seen in the mirror from Harry's view point. Chuckling, the Dark Lord let his weight sink into the cushion of the bed, caressing the younger man's hair and cheeks. "You are very handsome, let me tell you..."

Still bewildered by what wrought the slight differences in his anatomy, Harry touched his nose, tracing the outline of it, watching himself do the same motion within the mirror – it was a larger nose than which he was used to, although it fit his face much better than his father's had before, flowing with the waves of his hair that framed his face. The very structure of his face had changed, looking more angular than before, his cheek bones a bit higher set, his jaw a bit bolder and more finely cut. His eyes, were not as green as they had been before – they were darker than they had been, gleaming with a different light than he was accustomed to. Compared to the face next to his (which had been charmed to show the Tom Riddle of his own age, rather than what it truly looked like at the current) was very shocking, disturbing him more so than the norm. Before, the other had told him that they looked quite a bit alike, although he waved it away as a madman's muttering – now, there was undeniable evidence to that claim.

"I look... so very much like you," Harry uttered, somewhat unbelievingly. "I don't understand... this sort of thing isn't supposed to happen just like... _this_!"

"Yes, I know very well. You must notice that it had been over four months since you feel asleep, which is why you are seeing such changes. If you had been awake, you would have had to stop and really consider what was occurring, since you wouldn't have seen such a thing otherwise."

"You mean, that I'm _supposed_ to be looking more like the Tom Riddle that you used to be?"

"Of course! Since you and I started to share parts of our souls, we practically have to be very alike. Because I am so much older than you are, my part has more dominant characteristics than yours, due to the circumstances. And the fact that a very substantial part of my soul is inside of you, very literally, since the very beginning of this whole ordeal, I suppose that you will begin to have more of a temperament like myself."

Harry nodded, knowing that what the other said was true, very well. He'd become set off by even the slightest of things before, but now, it seemed as though it was even worse than before -- he could keep it buried for a bit, but it would rise out of him like a snake striking out it's prey. Touching his chest with his now longer fingers, he felt his heart against his chest, closing his eyes, becoming drunk with the scent and the presence of the other at his side.

* * *

Shaking himself from the dreams of the past, the younger of the two men reached for his wand, feeling very blind for one of the first times of his life. At the touch of the wand, another rush of memories came upon him...

Remembering how Severus had given Draco the Elder wand, then later Draco knowingly asked Harry to a duel, determined to let Harry win. Once the winner of the duel, Harry took Draco's wand -- the Elder wand -- leaving him the other one, apologizing and thanking him for the service that he had provided to both him and the Dark Lord. Needless to say, Severus had willingly halted all plans that Dumbledore had built up between them, tossing them aside, now that the very person he was protecting was very safe and in the care of the Dark Lord himself, he committed himself fully to his Master's will.

Severus had explained everything that he learned from the headmaster, spilling out every memory that Harry and the Dark Lord would need to know. Including his relationship with Lily Evans. This very matter saddened the youngest of the three orphans the most, knowing how it felt to love and then lose someone you felt very attached to, although it wasn't nearly the same amount of time that he and Sirius spent together as Lily and Severus had spent together.

"This wand..." Harry muttered, feeling the power through his finger-tips. His scar began to tingle slightly at the prospect of what he might be able to do with this very powerful thing that Death had given Tom Riddle's ancestor -- Harry's ancestor as well. Perhaps he might be able to see once again? Move freely once again? After all, he was the very one to be able to possess the wand. Turning his hand to point the wand in the direction of his eyes first (since he reasoned that the worst that could happen was Blindness -- which he already had) and felt the spell rise out of the shared mind of Tom Riddle and himself, speaking it softly. A rush of almost overwhelming power crashed over him, feeling much like going from the barren desert to a vast spring, Harry could not keep himself from moaning as it coursed through his every nerve, renewing it, repairing all the damaged connections.

Very suddenly, the previously blind man's sight returned to him in such a title wave of wonderful color and sensation, he dropped the wand in complete awe.

"Tom," he whispered, tugging on the other's shoulder. "Please, wake, for me?" He shook the Dark Lord harder, determined to wake him, come hell or high water.

"Harry...? Is there something --" shocked, the Slytherin heir sobered up quickly, his mind running as fast as it could, taking in the entire scene as it unfolded. He registered the wand lying ontop of the sheets besides the both of them, shortly after he cupped Harry's cheeks, their eyes locking for the first time in so very long, the lights gleaming back in the other's eyes as well, not glazed over. The dark green, almost black, eyes that he stared into were crystal rather than the foggy glass that he'd seen before. "You can see? Even without your--"

"Yes, Tom..." he replied. "Yes! This is one of the most wonderful days in my life... I...! I hardly know what to say, now that I can see... and walk without the aid of the cane!" Saying this, he flung the cane across the room, away from his range of view. "Oh, how I missed looking into your eyes..." he trailed off with a loving hiss.

He was pulled forward into a tight, passionate embrace by the other part of his very being. Harry Potter no longer cared that the part of his soul that belonged to Tom Riddle, that was hidden for such a long time, acted as a parasite, growing and devouring his own soul as it grew, feeding a misshapen, altered version back to the original host. It seemed as though the parasite, as it was called by Dumbledore, seemed to multiply what it devoured, yet remaining intact itself. It seemingly multiplied without heed to anything else that was happening within his soul.

"I love you, Tom Riddle," he announced, suddenly, silently, almost hissing it into the Dark Lord's ear.

A bit taken aback by the abruptness of such a thing, the other couldn't think of what to do but to card his hands through his lover's hair, massaging the scalp, feeling both of their hearts beating fiercely against their chests. It took all of the courage he had gained over his life to even mouth the words that he knew he should reply. "...I... I love -- love you... as well," he breathed, his face flushed abnormally and his heart pounding even harder inside of him.

Silence stretched out before them for an immeasurable period of time, as they just held each other close, not willing to let go of the other, for fear of they might just disappear.

"Tom, shall we get ready to go to our faithful followers in the North?" Harry asked, breaking the silence, inquiring softly.

"Yes, that seems to be what the plan is. Perhaps it is also time to visit an old friend of Dumbledore's up there, as well. In the Nurmengard prision. He was the one to possess the Elder wand before Dumbledore, taken when he was defeated, then imprisoned. It is a wonder that he was not killed by the old Headmaster. Severus makes a much better Headmaster than Dumbledore ever was," Tom Riddle replied, a twisted smile forming on his handsome face. "Come, let us dress appropriately for the occasion set before us, shall we?"

* * *

To be Continued... 


End file.
